


our sins are sweeter than sugar

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [11]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), DCU (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but not really Kinktober), (more ships and tags to be added), F/M, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: Day Five - Steve/Natasha“I’m still pissed at you about earlier,” he says, his voice quiet and low and rough. She glances over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to be,” he admits, seeming as irritated by this as she feels.“Then don’t be,” she retorts. “You have no reason to be.”“You almost got yourself killed.” His voice cracks on the world just a little, but neither of them points it out. “And don’t fucking tell me that I can’t be mad about that.”





	1. Steve/Natasha - Face-Sitting | Masks | Costume

**Author's Note:**

> For my [smut fest calendar](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/post/177076705811/chantys-smut-fest-2018).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to go,” he says, his voice gravelly and low and so incredibly sexy.
> 
> Her lip curves at the corner. “We’ve barely been here for an hour,” she says, though there isn’t an ounce of protest in her voice.
> 
> “We’ll come back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the [royal 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/royal%20'verse).

“You know, princess,” he whispers, his breath warm against her ear as he drags his knuckles down her spine, “you’re quite sneaky.”

Her lips curve into a smile as she glances over her shoulder, catching his bright, blue eyes through the slants of his feather mask. She feels his hand slide over her hip, giving it a gentle squeeze, and she leans back into his chest. “You’re just figuring this out now?” she teases, arching an eyebrow.

“ _Funny_.” He nips at her earlobe and a warmth shoots down her spine, unfurling low in her stomach as she draws in a sharp breath. It still catches her off-guard sometimes, the way he’s so openly affectionate. She _loves_ it, of course – loves the way he takes her hand and kisses it, the way he threads their fingers together, simply because he wants to. She loves the way he brushes her hair behind her ear, tangles his fingers in it when they kiss and then smooths it back into place after. He’d always found every excuse to touch her when they were alone and she knew part of that had to do with not being able to do so in public. But ever since they’d officially announced their relationship, he can’t quite keep his hands or his lips off of her.

She hardly minds all of the extra attention.

“Tony’s masquerade party is one of the only events that the royal family closes off to the press.” He smirks, his eyes twinkling. “No photographers, no journalists.”

“No parents to placate and sneak away from,” she reminds, twisting around to face him as she grasps his tie between her gloved fingers. She tugs him close, _closer_ , his breath warm as it fans over her cheeks in a low chuckle. “And with no one daring to gossip about me in front of my big brother, we can leave as early as we’d like.”

“A perfect first event for us to attend as an ‘official’ couple.” He teases his mouth over hers, his tongue darting out to lick at the seam of her lips, and she lets out a little noise from the back of her throat. He tilts his head, nudges his nose against hers. “I appreciate the consideration, love, but you really don’t have to worry about me handling the public.”

She bites on the inside of her lip as she peers up at him. He doesn’t seem embarrassed or the slightest bit upset at having caught her motive. Well, _one_ of her motives. It had been one of the first conversations that her parents and Aunt Peggy had with her after they decided that they were ready to go public. She wasn’t exactly worried about the public protesting their relationship, especially not since Steve had taken a bullet for her on a nationally televised event, instantly earning the admiration – and _adoration_ – of their people. But witnessing the intensity of the spotlight as her bodyguard is far different from being the one _in_ the spotlight, and Natasha would be lying if she said she wasn’t worried about how he would adjust.

Steve can embrace the attention, but she knows he doesn’t particularly favor it, either. He’s told her more than once that it doesn’t bother him, and she believes it. But still.

“You always protect me,” she whispers, loosening her grip on his tie to press her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. “I really like being the one to protect _you_ tonight.”

His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, his gaze growing darker, heavier, almost a palpable press against her cheeks as she stares up at him. She wants to pull off his mask, wants to see his bright, smiling face give way to his arousal. His gaze is always so adoring, almost reverent, and she _loves_ it.

But she thinks she may love _this_ gaze a little more: burning with pure hunger, with raw desire. His gaze flicks down to the corset of her gown and her stomach flips.

“We need to go,” he says, his voice gravelly and low and so incredibly _sexy_.

Her lip curves at the corner. “We’ve barely been here for an hour,” she says, though there isn’t an ounce of protest in her voice.

“We’ll come back.” His tone is firm, almost demanding, and her stomach flips again. No one dares take this kind of tone with a princess, but Steve does whenever he’s so ridiculously turned on that he can’t help it. It had been a way for her to give him an out – not to necessarily let him call _all_ the shots, but to let him judge whether they would have to wait.

But now? Now she just loves hearing the _want_ in his voice. She loves being the reason that his composure slips, that he gives in to his impulses.

They should pay a little more attention to who might be watching them, should care a little more about being discreet. Simply because they’re wearing masks doesn’t mean that no one has figured out who she is. But she really can’t bring herself to care. Not with the way Steve has her tucked under his arm, swiftly guiding her through one of the back exits of the ballroom and into the hallway. He ducks his head down, slants his mouth over hers, and she whimpers as he bites at her lower lip, pulling it with his teeth. She likes it a little rough, a little bite of pain that makes her feel less delicate, that reminds her that she won’t crack. And as much as Steve loves making slow, soft, sweet love to her, he loves _this_ just as much.

He pulls her forward, into one of the dozens of powder rooms down this hallway, and clicks the lock of the door into place behind them. Then his hands are on her back again, finding the warmth of her skin through the ribbons holding her corset in place. He growls lowly against her lips, his fingers twisting into the binds.

“I want to get you out of this,” he murmurs into their kiss. “Kiss everywhere this damn dress indents your skin.”

She lets out something between a hiss and a whine, because she knows they don’t have time. It took both Wanda and Sharon to get her into this thing, and there’s no way Steve can do it on his own. “Don’t be such a tease,” she mutters, pushing at his chest, and he breathes out a laugh as he grasps her wrists and draws himself away, just a little bit.

“I’m not teasing, princess. I’m _promising_.” He smiles a dimpled, boyish smile at her. “For now, though, I want you to straddle my face.”

 _Fuck_. Her breath catches in her throat. “Why?”

His eyes are dark as he draws her toward the chaise, sliding a hand up to her elbow to toy with the edge of her glove. “Because it seems like an incredibly _naughty_ position for a princess to be caught in.” He dips his head, his lips finding her pulse, and her eyelids flutter closed as he sucks at the skin. She knows he won’t dare leave a mark – not where anyone else can see it, anyway – but she likes the thrill of knowing that he _can_. “Because if someone were to walk in on us, they wouldn’t be able to see who I am, covered by your skirt. But you?” He lifts his hand, brushes his knuckles over her flushed cheek. “But they’ll see _you_. They’ll see your face twisted in pleasure. They’ll see their darling princess _begging_ to come.”

Her pulse thrums, her breaths growing quicker, shallower. The door is locked, but a burst of adrenaline unfurls in her stomach at the image he’s painted. An image that she _wants_.

He places a kiss to her forehead, as if knowing she needs the little brush of encouragement, and then he eases himself onto the leather, stretches his legs along the chaise as he leans back. Her gaze slides over his broad shoulders, sliding down to the slim of his hips, settling at the hard, prominent curve between his legs. She licks her lips.

He holds a hand out for her and she grasps it, letting him balance her as she gathers the full skirt of her gown as best as she can, lifting it up so she can straddle his chest. He blinks up at her, his eyes twinkling, and she can’t quite help herself: she lets go of her skirt to pull his mask off, carelessly tossing it aside. He chuckles softly, the low rumble of his chest sending vibrations against her sex through the damp lace of her panties. She traces her thumb over his cheek, down the line of his jaw, circling over a small, fading scar at the corner of his lips.

“Hi,” she whispers.

He swallows lightly, staring up at her with so much awe, so much _love_ , that she can’t quite catch her breath. “Hi.” He slides a hand over her hip, gripping onto it to balance her as she shifts herself up his chest, hooking her knees over his shoulders. She lets go of his hand, gathering her skirt and pulling it up, holding it at her hips. She feels him run the tip of his nose over the inside of her thigh, feels his breath tingle against the hot, wet folds of her sex as he hooks a finger under the lace, pulling it to the side. She licks her lips, twisting the material of her skirt between her fingers in anticipation – and then she _moans_ as if in surprise at the first brush of his tongue against her, flat and firm as he licks a broad stripe along her center.

He groans, sending vibrations against her folds as he works his tongue over her, and she can imagine his eyes rolling back in pleasure, his forehead pinched in concentration. She wants to see his face, to watch the way it twists in arousal. But she also kind of loves that she _can’t_. That all she can focus on is his tongue licking at her, drawing out her pleasure.

She curls her spine, straining against the tight hold of the corset as she tips her head back. Her legs quiver, her fingers twitching to hold her skirt up as Steve quickly and expertly winds her up. His hand slides along the back of her thigh, digging into the curve of her ass as his tongue presses against her clit, and her hips jump.

Then his lips close around her little bundle of nerves, sucking once, twice, three times, and she whines, barely fighting off the urge to grind down against his mouth.

He kneads at her skin, soothing her, reassuring her that it’s fine – he can handle it – and she knows he can. She’s not worried about being too rough with him in this position. She’s fairly certain that he _wants_ it, in fact.

And she does too. _Oh_ , she wants it. Her body twitches in an urge to move, to chase the high he’s quickly pushing her toward, and all it takes is a quick nip of his teeth on the inside of her thigh for her to give in. She rolls her hips, twists her skirt even tighter in her hands as her body bows forward, working with the laps of his tongue. Her sex flutters when he licks at her entrance, teasing for a second, and then his tongue is curling inside as he curves his hand over her ass again to move her body with his strokes, encouraging her to do the same.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly he pushes her against that edge, how well he knows her body, her pleasure, but she’s never once felt embarrassed around Steve.

How could she, when he so openly adores everything about her?

“ _Steve_ ,” she whimpers, her body shuddering as her body bends forward a little more, practically curling around him. She lets go of one side of her dress to brace herself against the arm of the chaise, barely holding herself up, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He all but growls beneath her, his tongue slipping out and back up to circle over her clit.

She falls apart with a strangled, rasping cry, and honestly, her corset feels as if it’s the only thing keeping her together as her orgasm crashes over her. The cinch of the ribbons as her chest heaves is almost deliciously painful, a reminder of the party happening just across the hall, and part of her is relieved that they haven’t lost this. That the excitement of sneaking off, of wanting to lose herself in Steve no matter where they are, no matter who might come across them, isn’t any less intense simply because their relationship is no longer a secret.

Steve soothes her throbbing folds with soft licks as he eases her back down from her high, and it feels like _hours_ , honestly, before she feels him reach up to wind an arm around her. He gently maneuvers them over, pulling her to the chaise as he braces himself above her, and, slowly, she blinks her eyelashes open, the edges of her vision still blurry from pleasure.

His lips and his chin are wet with her release, and she can’t quite help but lift a hand to touch it, use her thumb to spread it along his jaw.

He chuckles softly, turning to kiss her palm. “We should go back soon,” he says, sounding every bit as reluctant as she feels.

She shakes her head, grasping at his tie to pull him down, slipping her tongue against his as she kisses him. “I want you inside of me,” she whispers, and a shudder rolls down his spine as he mutters a curse, his hips jutting between her legs.

“I don’t have anything.”

“I don’t care.” She reaches up to pull her mask off, not caring as it snags on one of the dozens of pins in her hair before she tosses it to the floor. Her hands slide up to his throat, and she can feel his pulse thrumming against her thumb. “I want to feel you dripping down my leg when we walk back into that ballroom.”

He groans and kisses her like he can’t quite help himself, and she laughs against his lips, nipping at him. “What a naughty princess,” he murmurs.

“And soon, you’ll be my naughty prince,” she teases, and he’s smiling as he slants his mouth over hers, kissing her sweetly.


	2. Bruce/Selina - Begging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Had to cut your run short, old man?” she taunts as she rolls onto her side to face him, relishing in the way his gaze slowly trails down her bare curves, following the dip of her waist, the slope of her hips.
> 
> He shakes his head, his smirk softening into a smile. “Just missed you,” he says simply, easily, and she bites on the inside of her lip.
> 
> She shouldn’t love it so much when he’s being a sap, but she _does_. She really, really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinks:** begging + shower/bath, against a wall

Her husband is so damn _disciplined_.

She can feel the warmth of the sunlight on her back, the bright, morning sunlight filling the room, and she mewls out something akin to a whine, knowing that Bruce had drawn the curtains before his run on purpose. They may be on vacation, but of course Bruce still wakes up at the crack of dawn without an alarm, still pulls her arms and legs from around him so he can get dressed for his workout. She vaguely remembers clinging onto him a little tighter, murmuring something close to a threat about leaving her cold as she dug her nails down the tight, hard lines of his chest, drawing a low chuckle from his chest. He pried himself from around her, anyway, pressed a kiss to her forehead and promised he’d be back in an hour.

He almost always wakes her when he leaves the bed, and more often than not, she can curl herself deeper into their blanket and press her face into his pillow to fall back asleep.

But here, it’s almost impossible. Even if Bruce hadn’t been an ass and left the curtains drawn to keep her from sleeping in, she wouldn’t have been able to. The room too bright, too warm, and the smell of sea salt in the air makes her feel oddly displaced. She’s never had trouble sleeping somewhere new, but it seems that sharing a bed with Bruce – a bed that she’s come to _love_ , to look forward to lying in, that’s felt more like _hers_ more than anything else in her small, shitty hole of an apartment in Gotham – has entirely ruined that for her.

She lets out a huff of annoyance when, fifteen minutes after Bruce has left (she knows; she checked the clock) she decides she simply _can’t_ fall back asleep. She kicks the duvet off from around her legs, lifts her arms over her head and stretches her body, her spine arching slightly off of the bed as she mewls out a yawn.

“I was wondering when you’d get up,” a low, gruff voice echoes through the room, making her flinch in surprise as her eyes snap onto the doorway to find Bruce standing there with his arms crossed, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His lips twitch in a smirk, and she tries, and _fails_ , to narrow her eyes in a glare as her stomach does this stupid little flutter.

(He came back _early_.)

“Had to cut your run short, old man?” she taunts as she rolls onto her side to face him, relishing in the way his gaze slowly trails down her bare curves, following the dip of her waist, the slope of her hips.

He shakes his head, his smirk softening into a smile. “Just missed you,” he says simply, easily, and she bites on the inside of her lip.

She shouldn’t love it so much when he’s being a sap, but she _does_. She really, really does.

He uncrosses his arms, his smile widening ever so slightly as he walks over to her in a few quick, long strides, and she breathes out a laugh when he grasps her hip and rolls her onto her back so he can kiss her lips. She hums softly, hooks both of her hands behind his neck and kisses him a little harder, a little deeper.

“Come take a shower with me,” he murmurs, winding an arm around her waist and lifting her before she can respond, holding her to his chest. She hooks her legs around his hips and tugs his lower lip between her teeth, nipping, and his chest rumbles in a low groan. “It was impossible to concentrate on my run, knowing you were lying here, waiting for me.”

“Then maybe you should stop _leaving_ me,” she points out, one eyebrow arched as he walks them into the bathroom.

His lips twitch as he unceremoniously drops her onto the cold, marble countertop of the sink, drawing a squeal, and he doesn’t even try to duck away when her hands shove at his chest. He kisses her on the bridge of her nose, once, twice, three more times, and her eyelashes flutter closed as she feels her skin tingle, feels her blood thrum. It’s ridiculous how such simple things make her feel crazy, simply because it’s from _him_ : a gentle kiss, a deep hum of content, a brush of his warm, calloused fingertips over her skin. He leans in close and reaches behind her, kissing the corner of her mouth as he twists the water on, and he nips at her lower lip once before drawing away entirely, leaving her flushed and humming.

She blinks her eyes open to glare at him, and he laughs as he tugs his hoodie and his shirt over his head and drops them to the floor.

She slides off of the counter and onto her feet, steps forward and presses her palms flat against his chest. She feels his muscles coil and flex under her touch as she smooths her hands down, and she licks her lips, dips her head to sink her teeth into his skin, just an inch away from one of his nipples.

“ _Cat_.” His voice is low and sharp. To others it would probably sound like a curt demand, but she knows better. It’s a plea of _want_.

She pulls away entirely, smiling, and turns away from him to step into the shower. He exhales in that way that sounds like exasperation and adoration all at once, somehow, and she tangles her hands in her hair as she wets them under the spray, glancing over her shoulder at him. His eyes are darker, stormier, as he pushes his running shorts down and kicks them from his ankles. He slinks toward her, not once breaking their gaze, and she sucks in a breath when she feels him crowd her space and press her into the tiled wall, his mouth slanting over hers in low growl. The water is barely warm, and the cold, hard press of the wall behind her makes her skin prickle, but every other part of her feels white-hot, flushed with arousal.

It still surprises her sometimes, how perfectly she fits against him. How _safe_ she feels pinned beneath his broad shoulders, caged in by the thick muscles of his arm, enveloped by his musk and his heat.

“You’re so distracting,” he breathes out between kisses, and she purrs, licking into his mouth. She reaches between them and wraps her fingers around his length, stroking once, and he twists his lips away from hers as he lets out a groan. She circles the tip of him with her thumb, tugs his earlobe between her teeth as she works her hand slowly, teasingly.

His forehead presses against hers as his jaw sets, his muscles taut in restraint. She can feel his hips moving with her hand, but only just barely.

 _Well, that just won’t do_.

She squeezes gently, giving a particularly exaggerated upward stroke, feeling him pulse against her palm as he moans, long and gravelly. She tips her head up ever so slightly, brushing her lips against his, and he hesitates, but only for a moment. He always comes so much faster – especially _inside_ of her – when they’re kissing. She’s not quite sure why, but she thinks it might be the same reason she feels so much more sensitive as soon as he slips his tongue against hers, her body almost instantly pushed onto that edge of hazy, dizzying pleasure.

But then he’s kissing her, deeper and dirtier than just moments before, practically growling into her mouth as he finally, _finally_ lets his hips chase the strokes of her hand. Finally gives into her touch. It’s like something of a game between them, getting each other to cave. Like they need this little thrill, this reminder that they will always chase this feeling between them, no matter what. Marrying him, sharing a room and a bed and a _life_ with him, hadn’t made things seem mundane or predictable. _Comfortable_ , yes. But it hadn’t eased the tension.

It had made it _worse_ , if possible.

She feels her lips tug into a smirk against his, and he sucks in a breath when she pulls her hand off of him, leaving him buzzing right at that edge. When she blinks her eyes open to look at him, she finds his eyelids half-closed, his eyes hazy and dark, and a white-hot spark shoots through her.

She pushes at his shoulders, spins them around to pin him to the wall as she sinks onto her knees, and she licks the underside of his length. His hips press back against the wall with a snap, and she smooths her palms up the tops of his thighs as she takes him into her mouth. His hand touches her cheek, cupping it, and she peers up at him from under her lashes as he strokes his thumb over the flush on her skin. She moans around him, taking him in deeper, sucking him harder as one of her hands circles the base of him as he hisses out a curse.

She pulls her mouth off of him and his body slumps against the wall, just a little. She smiles up at him, relishing in his harsh, heavy breaths as they echo through the shower.

His hand grasps her chin as he bends forward, her hand lazily stroking his length as he kisses her. It’s tender and slow and gentle, almost disorienting in its innocence considering where they are, what her mouth and her tongue had just been doing. “ _Tease_ ,” he accuses, and she can hear the smile in his voice, the affection in it making her heart flutter.

“Ask nicely,” she taunts, circling her thumb over his tip. His body shivers.

“Selina,” he rasps. It’s as close to begging as he’ll ever get, but she thinks she likes it more. She _loves_ the way he says her name.

She hums, nodding once, and winds his arms around her and lifts her up in one swift motion, pinning her back against the wall as her legs hook around him again. His length presses against her wet folds, rubbing at her little bundle of nerves, and her body _shudders_ , her nails digging into the muscles of his back. He guides himself at her entrance, pushes his hips forward slowly, so damn _slowly_ , as his thumb finds her clit and rubs it. Her head falls back against the wall, her lips parting open as he pushes his hips flushed against hers, bottoming out. She first push is always so, so good, stretching her and filling her like their very first time, and she doesn’t even try to stifle the whimper in her throat when he starts thrusting.

“This is much more fun than running,” she says as she presses her face into his cheek, and his chest rumbles with a laugh as he grips her hips a little tighter, shifting her higher up the wall and brushing a sweet spot that has her mewling. He hits it again, and again, and _again_ , and she sinks her teeth into the pulse in his neck.

“We can’t spend all our time fucking,” he tells her, his voice sounding tight but amused and not at all sincere. His thumb circles tighter over her clit, faster, and her body hums.

She tilts her head back to catch his gaze, and she knows her eyes must be wide and sparkling. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” he says drily, his eyes reflecting the light, giddiness she feels in her chest as her desire coils tighter and tighter in her stomach. “I’d never challenge you.”

“I think I’d wear you out before you wore _me_ , Bat,” she declares, her walls fluttering, her body quickly climbing right toward that dizzying peak.

His eyes flash, his lips tugging at the corners, and she _yelps_ when he angles his hips and sinks into her deeper, harder, her entire body shuddering at the sudden pleasure that shoots through her. Everything feels white-hot and hazy, sensation pressing down against her skin, pinning her in place as his hips quicken, his thumb circling. She falls apart with a sharp cry that echoes through the small space of the shower, and then his lips are on hers, kissing her whimpers of pleasure as her orgasm washes over her. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t ease his strokes, and she whimpers into his mouth, her body vibrating, _shaking_. Moments later, his thrusts grow harder, almost bruising, and then he groans as his warmth spills inside of her.

His weight presses down on her, trapping her between the wall and his broad chest, but she doesn’t mind, not even a little. She clings onto him as she unravels, her bones practically melting from the heat of her high.

His breaths are harsh against her face as he draws back to gulp for air, and her eyelashes flutter open to meet his gaze, her heart stuttering in her chest.

His lips curve into a smile, and leans in, brushing a soft, sweet kiss to her lips. His hand moves between them, brushing her oversensitive clit, and she gasps into his mouth.

“We’re far from done, Cat.”


	3. Steve/Natasha - Sensory Deprivation | Temperature Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She feels sweaty and gross, and the last thing she wants to do is to make that worse, which is absolutely what will happen the moment she lets Steve get his hands on her.
> 
> But he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t even seem to notice that her camisole is sticking to her skin as he leans in to kiss her shoulder, murmuring, “ _Nat_ ,” into her skin.
> 
> _Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinks:** sensory deprivation, temperature play + nipple play, body worship, scars 
> 
> Part of the [married 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/married%20'verse).

She flinches when she feels his large, warm hand pressing against her neck, his thumb quickly seeking out her pulse, and her eyes fly open to glare at him as she pushes his wrist away. He chuckles, wipes at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. “Pretty sure I heard your breathing stop,” he teases, his eyes twinkling.

“You just want an excuse to touch me,” she retorts, one eyebrow raised as her lips curve into a smirk, and he shrugs and leans back against the headboard of their twin-sized bed. It barely fits the two of them, but they’ve gotten used to sharing such a small space by now, after so many months of ducking into small motel rooms and sleeping in the back seats of borrowed pickups. Most days they barely bat an eye at their conditions, though it’s a bit harder to ignore the lack of luxuries such as air conditioning in one-hundred-degree humidity.

“Well, we’ve got to do something to pass the time.”

She bites on the inside of her lip, letting her eyes flick down to the hard, sculpted lines of his chest, almost mesmerized by the soft rise and fall of his muscles as he breathes. He’d gone without a shirt for the better half of the last two days since they’d checked into their motel room, and it certainly hadn’t helped with making her feel less stifled by the heat. Her skin is tingling, humming almost restlessly, her fingertips itching to touch him, her body itching to be touched _by_ him, and it’s become harder and harder to ignore the weight of his stare. But she feels sweaty and _gross_ , and the last thing she wants to do is to make that worse, which is absolutely what will happen the moment she lets Steve get his hands on her.

But he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t even seem to notice that her camisole is sticking to her skin as he leans in to kiss her shoulder, murmuring, “ _Nat_ ,” into her skin.

 _Fuck_. His low, gravelly voice slides down her spine, coiling low in her stomach. “Steve,” she breathes, her voice wavering.

He cups his hand over the back of her neck, cradling it as his lips skim over the curve of her neck, peppering soft, gentle kisses up the column of her throat. “Please, love,” he coaxes, kissing the small, sensitive spot just below her ear. “I want to touch you.” The tip of his tongue darts out to lick her skin. Her lips part. “I _miss you_.”

She should laugh – she hasn’t left his side for the last six weeks now – but a whimper falls from her lips instead, because she knows exactly what he means. It’s barely been five days since the last time he’d been inside her, since she’d been in his arms, and it feels _way too fucking long_. He grasps her chin, gently tilting her head toward him as he kisses the apple of her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and the ridiculous, stubborn threads of her resistance snap when his mouth is on hers. The kiss is barely a brush, his tongue gently licking at the seam of her lips until she parts them for him, letting him slip inside. All it takes is one damn kiss and it feels a little like she’s melting as he gently tugs her down, laying her on the bed.

“I know it’s hot, but it’ll feel good,” he promises, smoothing his hand up the flat of her stomach, pressing just over her heart. The warmth of his touch already feels sweltering, as though it’s trapping heat at her skin, but, _fuck_ , it also feels like relief. It feels _familiar_. “Please, Nat.”

He knows she wants him – knows he can see it in her eyes, _feel_ it with the rapid, stuttering beats of her heart – but he still wants her to say the words.

(She wonders if this man will ever stop surprising her. She certainly hopes not.)

“Okay,” she breathes out with a bit of a laugh, pressing her palms flat against his stomach and slowly, _slowly_ , sliding them upward, relishing in the way his muscles quiver under her fingertips. She wonders how much of her craving for this man has to do with needing a distraction, of needing to forget, if only for a while, of being on the run and losing a life she’d truly come to love – and how much has to do with needing _him_. She knows that she can be without him; she’s done it twice before. It’s simply that she doesn’t _want_ to anymore.

His eyes are sparkling as he dips his head down to kiss her once, twice, three times, and then grasps her left hand to push at the ring on her finger with his thumb.

“Close your eyes. I’ll be right back,” he tells her, and she raises her eyebrows. His lips twitch in a grin. “Just trust me, _wife_.”

She laughs softly, her stomach doing a giddy little flip as she complies, letting her eyelashes flutter closed. She feels the bed dip as he eases himself off, hears his muted steps, and then the door slips open and shut with a soft click. She should feel more nervous about being left alone with her eyes closed, the door unlocked, knowing that there people out there – probably in this very city – looking for them. But she’s not worried, not in the slightest. Nothing about their lives is certain anymore, but with Steve, she thinks it doesn’t really _matter_.

As long as it’s them, together, they’ll figure out the rest. They always have.

The door clicks open again, and Steve exhales a soft, “ _fuck_ ,” as he shuts it behind him. For a fleeting second she thinks she _should_ be nervous now, except Steve is by her side in the next second, setting something down on the nightstand and grasping her chin with his fingers, arching her neck a little more as he tilts her head. “You’re beautiful like this.”

Her heart fucking _skips_. “Obedient?” she asks, and he chuckles because he knows she’s just teasing him.

“Calm. Comfortable.” He traces her lower lip with his thumb. “Completely relaxed.” She exhales slowly, melting at his touch, every ounce of tension seeming to dissolve from her body all at once. “I know it’s been hard,” he says, voice softer now.

“That’s not your fault,” she replies quickly. He’s stopped saying the words out loud, but she knows that he still thinks about it – where they’d be now if things had been different.

But they _aren’t_. And he wouldn’t be the Steve she knows, the Steve she _loves_ maybe more than she could truly understand, if he hadn’t made the choices he made. They wouldn’t be in hiding, but they also wouldn’t have _this_ for themselves, either. Because she wouldn’t have taken that leap with him, and he simply wouldn’t have asked.

“I know,” he says, and she believes him.

He leans over her, pulls his hand off of her face to push the strap of her camisole and her bra aside, kissing her bared skin. He does the same with her other shoulder, straddling her legs as she slips her arms through the straps and arches her back, helping him tug it off of her entirely. He kisses her skin, just between the dip of her breasts, once, twice, three times, and she feels her stomach flutter. She’s burning up, not from the heat anymore, but from _him_ , and the small, feathery brushes of his lips only seem the fan the desire, making her squirm beneath him as he unclasps her bra and slides it off. He smiles against the curve of her breast, licking at her nipple, and she almost jumps when his hand touches her hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, impatient. He closes his lips around her nipple, sucking, and hooks both thumbs under the waistband of her panties. Except he doesn’t pull them down. He lets his hands linger, his hot breath teasing over her nipple as he sucks and _sucks_ , and she twists her neck, presses her cheek into the pillow and tries to arch beneath him. “ _Steve_.”

“You’re always extra sensitive here when you’re warm,” he muses, peeling her panties down a little, as he pulls his mouth off of her. Her eyelashes flutter, almost opening, but he says, “Eyes closed, love,” and she bites on the inside of her lip, complying, and then sucking in a breath when his lips close around her other nipple, sucking wetly. She feels _wired_ , like every lap of his tongue is shooting straight through her, tightening at her core. She needs something, _anything_ , to distract her, but with her eyes closed all she can focus on is the sensation.

And then she gasps when something hard and wet and _so fucking cold_ press against the flat of her stomach, making her quiver.

Steve pulls his mouth off of her, kisses the underside of her breast, and she feels the sensation drag across her skin in slow, teasing circles.

 _Ice_.

She squirms, wanting to lean away from its frigid touch. It’s almost too much after being smothered by heat for so long, but it also feels _perfect_ as Steve slides it higher, lingering between the dip of her breasts. She can feel it melting, can feel the water roll down her chest, and she bites her lower lip as a delicate shiver slides down her spine.

His lips press against the underside of her jaw, sucking gently as he swirls the ice over her stomach in long, languid circles. She twists her fingers into the bed sheet, mewling.

“Good?” He holds the ice against the sensitive spot just under her ribs, letting it melt away until his fingers are pressed against her, rubbing the water into her skin.

“Good,” she breathes. He pulls his hand off of her as he kisses down her jaw, over the column of her throat, and she jolts at the touch of another ice cube against her skin, circling slowly around one of her nipples. Her eyelashes flutter, wanting to see it, to see _him_ , but then he’s pressing a soft kiss over the bridge of her nose, a quiet reminder. “ _Steve_.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, as if to himself, dragging the tip of the ice over her nipple and holding it there. She gasps, her spine arching. The sharp, cold touch makes her nipples harden, makes the skin around them prickle, but every other part of her feels flushed with white-hot warmth, even under the cooling water still sliding over her skin. Her sex is _aching_ , but he has her legs pinned between his, only barely giving her room to squirm beneath him in need. “So fucking _perfect_ ,” he whispers, slowing the tight circles of the ice until he’s pulled it off of her entirely, and then his tongue – flat and broad and _hot_ – licks at it, sending a warmth right down her spine. He sucks it into his lips, pressing the ice cube to her other nipple and circling again, drawing a soft, desperate sort of sound from the back of her throat. She pulls a hand off of the sheet, twisting it into his hair and tightening it in her grip.

“Touch me,” she demands. She’s so wound up, overwhelmed by the sharp touch of the ice and the smothering humidity, that she already feels dizzy.

“I _am_ ,” he replies, because he’s an ass. She scratches at his scalp, and his chuckle vibrates over her skin before he leans away. He draws the ice away, too, lapping at her other nipple to soothe it from the cold. She huffs out in frustration just before his lips slant over hers in a kiss. “Maybe you should be a little more specific.”

“You’re such a damn _tease_.”

She’s smiling, her body trembling, and he kisses the apple of her cheek as he presses the ice cube against her bottom lip. Her tongue darts out, licking at it, tasting the slight salt of her sweat, and maybe a little bit of his, too. And then he’s tracing it down the column of her throat, finding her wild, thrumming pulse and letting it melt away entirely.

He paints the water over the curve of her shoulder, lingering at the spot she knows she has a scar. It’s small and silvery and almost entirely faded, but it’s _there_ , and he rubs it gently with his thumb. She doesn’t feel particularly self-conscious about how many marks are scattered over her body, but it’s almost impossible to feel anything other than beautiful when Steve focuses on them. He draws another ice cube against her skin, circling the scar on her shoulder, then tracing down the slope of another that curves over her bicep. He drags the ice down her forearm, following the patterns of stitches there, and then touches the ice to the top of a second-degree burn mark just below her ribs. He circles the lopsided coloring that she knows is there, then slowly paints over it with the melting water, as if trying to color in the scar again. She quivers, her hands twisting in his hair, over the sheet as she mewls.

And with every scar he traces, he kisses her skin there, lapping at the water and murmuring sweetly against her skin. His words start to blur together – _you’re so fucking beautiful, Nat, so damn strong, so fucking perfect, every damn one of these scars brought you to me, brought us to this_ – and she feels a little bit like she can’t _breathe_.

He slides the ice over the front of her underwear, which is already sticking to her sex with her arousal, and then his lips are on hers, swallowing her sharp cry in a kiss.

He pulls her underwear down her thighs and presses the ice over her clit, circling and circling and _circling_ , and she _whines_ at the sensation, her body squirming. Part of her wants to lean away from the cold touch, but a bigger part of her _loves_ the sensation, loves how her body grows hotter, somehow, as he drags the ice over her folds. It melts a little faster with every stroke, the water tickling her oversensitive nerves as it rolls down and drips onto the sheet. She feels deliciously delirious, pinned down by the sensations of the heat and the ice. She’s right there on that dizzying edge, her mind too hazy to really register that Steve is sliding down her body until the ice is dipping into her entrance and his tongue is lapping over her clit.

She cries out, her body jolting as he closes his lips around her little bundle of nerves, pressing the ice into her a little more. He sucks once, twice, three times, and she falls apart with a whimper as white-hot sensation bursts over her. She can feel the cold touch of the ice, the hot, rough laps of his tongue, but everything else is a blur of haze and pleasure.

The ice melts inside of her as her orgasm pulses down her spine, unraveling her at the seams. Steve hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, pressing the other to the bed to open her up, baring her clit to his tongue even more as he continues to lick at her. She whines, her body trying to twist away, but he doesn’t let up and she doesn’t want him to, not even a little.

Her second orgasm follows on the heels of her first – softer this time, quieter, but still just as dizzying.

He kisses her clit before drawing away, sliding back over her trembling body and bracing himself above her as her eyelashes flutter open. The edges of her vision are still blurry, but the smile on his face and the twinkling, _adoring_ look in his eyes is clear as day.

She touches her hands to his chest, slides them up and hooks them behind his neck, drawing him to her in a kiss. “I knew there was a reason I married you,” she teases.

He chuckles, kissing her a little deeper, a little slower, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Another shiver rolls down her spine. “Feel better?”

She hums as she nods. She feels hotter now, but rather than being smothered by heat, she feels like she’s burning from within, desire sliding through her veins, and it feels _amazing_.

She kisses him again, pushing gently at his shoulders, and because he already knows what she wants to do, he hooks an arm around her waist and rolls them over so that he’s on his back, her legs straddling his chest. She’s still quivering a little from the last tremors of her orgasms, but she braces a hand against his chest for support, reaching over to grab an ice cube from the glass that he’d set down on the nightstand. His throat flexes as he swallows, his eyelids growing heavier, his gaze growing darker as he stares up at her with a lazy smirk.

“My turn,” she says, and his chest vibrates with a chuckle beneath her as she presses the ice cube just above his heart.


	4. Bucky/Wanda - Spanking | Mirror Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Our daughter is waiting for us,” Wanda points out as his lips trail over the curve of her neck, kissing her thrumming pulse. “She’s really excited to play on the beach.”
> 
> “She is,” he agrees, sucking at her skin.
> 
> Her breath hitches. He squeezes her hips. “Our friends are waiting for us.”
> 
> “They are.”
> 
> “Don’t just agree with me to distract me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinks:** spanking, mirror sex

“Wanda?”

She flinches when she hears a gentle knock, feels a warmth spread over her cheeks as James eases the bathroom door open, which is ridiculous. _She’s_ being ridiculous and she knows it, and it makes her blush a little brighter, somehow, as James catches her gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

“Having trouble in here?” he teases, sliding his hands over her hips as he comes up from behind her, kissing the top of her hair. She hums, leaning back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder as she folds her arms across her stomach. Across the marks stretching over her skin – fading, almost entirely gone, and something you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know where to look – but still _there_. It’s not as if she can forget. She sees them every morning in the mirror and every night, when James peels back her silk slip, kissing every inch of those scars with such adoration that it makes her breath catch, makes her body tremble. She’s never felt self-conscious about them before and she doesn’t want to start now.

Still. Her bikini feels a little too small right now, despite how perfect it felt when she tried it on. A little too revealing, even though that had been the entire point.

She _hates_ being so ridiculous.

“Doll,” James says, his voice low and his breath warm against her ear as he gently wraps his hands around her wrists. She tips her head forward, catching his stare in the mirror as he slowly pulls her arms away, holding them at her sides. His lips curve, smiling that dimpled smile of his as his eyes take in every curve, every inch of exposed skin. “There are you.”

“Stop,” she says with a laugh, only half-heartedly trying to squirm free, but he squeezes onto her a little tighter as his smile widens, as his eyes darken. “ _James_.”

“What?” His question sounds perfectly innocent even as his hands slide over her hips again, giving a gentle, playful, _promising_ tug to the knots holding her bikini in place. Her heart skips, a warmth shooting down her spine, unraveling low in her stomach. She feels tingly and giddy from a simple touch, a teasing smile, and she can’t help the soft giggle that bursts from her lips because of it. They’ve been married for four years; they have a _daughter_ together. There’s not one part of her that he hasn’t touched, that he hasn’t memorized like the back of his hand, yet all it takes is that boyish, dimpled smile of his and a gentle brush of his fingertips and she feels the same burst of warmth as the very first time he said her name.

“Our daughter is waiting for us,” Wanda points out as his lips trail over the curve of her neck, kissing her thrumming pulse. “She’s really excited to play on the beach.”

“She is,” he agrees, sucking at her skin.

Her breath hitches. He squeezes her hips. “Our friends are waiting for us.”

“They are.”

“Don’t just agree with me to distract me.” She attempts to sound stern, but her voice comes out a little too shaky, a little too _happy_. The cool metal of his fingertips trace the waistband of her bikini, back and forth, over and over, as his lips suck at her neck a little harder. “Stephanie—”

“Is happily distracted, being watched by all of her adoring aunts and uncles, splashing around with the other kids,” James points out, glancing up from under those ridiculously long eyelashes to meet her gaze in the reflection again. “She doesn’t even notice we’re gone.” He hooks his fingers through the knot on her left lip, slowly tugging it loose as her breaths grow heavier. The material falls away as his hand curves over her bared skin, his thumb digging into her hipbone. “And none of them will notice if we’re gone just a little bit longer.”

“Yes they will,” she breathes.

He tugs on the other knot, letting her bikini fall to the tile of the bathroom floor. Her eyelashes almost flutter closed, but she doesn’t want to break their stare. She _can’t_.

“Everyone is going to give us such shit for this,” he says, smirking against her shoulder.

“They are.”

His fingertips dip lower, finding the soft, wet folds of her sex, and her knees quiver ever so slightly. But she’s not afraid of falling. Not with James right behind her, letting her lean against his firm, solid weight, holding her up. “Don’t just agree with me to distract me,” he teases, stroking his fingers slowly.

“You’re the one that’s being distracting,” she says, and he chuckles, his breath warm against her skin as he brushes a kiss to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She mewls, turning so that his lips fall on hers next in a soft, gentle pressure. She reaches up, pushing a hand into his hair and twisting it in her fingers, kissing him a little harder, a little deeper. He dips his fingers, drawing her wetness over her folds, his metal hand firmly squeezing her hip as her body trembles, vibrating with the pleasure building from her core.

“You’re not off the hook, you know,” he murmurs against her lips, his fingertips purposefully grazing her clit, making her suck in a breath.

She blinks, her mind hazy, not quite catching what he means. “What?”

He gently moves her forward, pressing her hips against the edge of the sink counter, and she gasps as she feels his hand come down on the curve of her ass. It’s hard enough for her to feel it, to feel that it’s purposeful, but not enough for it to hurt, not even a little. Her eyes dart to the mirror, finding his gaze on her, dark and twinkling.

He’s stroking over her clit now, slowly, almost lazily, and she can feel the pressure coiling and tightening at the base of her spine from the gentle, relentless pressure. He holds her stare as his hand spanks her again, twice, with just a little bit more force than before, and she feels herself blush. Oh. _Oh_.

He spreads his fingers over the curve of her ass, massaging her tingling skin with the pad of his thumb. “I noticed how you tried to cover yourself from me,” he whispers into her ear with a gentle pinch over her clit, making her body arch. He slides his fingers lower, teasing at her entrance as his other hand comes down on her ass again in another spank. Her body jolts, the fleeting burst of pain dissolving into humming, tingling pleasure, spreading just underneath her skin. “You’re not feeling insecure about yourself, are you?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly with his arousal. He sinks two fingers into her, thrusting slowly as his thumb presses right over her clit, and her eyelids flutter closed. “Open them, doll,” he instructs.

Exhaling a breath, she presses her hands flat against the counter and blinks her eyes open again, staring back at their reflection. Her skin is flushed all over, her lips parted, her wetness shining on the inside of her thighs.

She glances away, overwhelmed by how aroused she looks – how aroused she _feels_ – but then he spanks her again and her eyes dart forward, obeying his silent command.

“I fucking love this body,” he tells her, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling. She wants to roll her hips, wants to urge him to go faster, but he has her trapped between him and the edge of the counter. “So delicate and so strong at the same time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple, to the top of her hair. “Your energy has its own pulse, as strong as steel, but when I touch you you’re nothing but soft and pliant under my fingers.” As if to prove his point, his metal hand slides up her side, ghosting over her ribs to cup her breast and squeeze it. “You’re tiny, and so much more fragile than I am, but you held our _daughter_ inside of you. You gave birth to her and made it look like it was a fucking walk in the park, too.”

He spanks her again and a laugh bursts from her lips, raspy and breathy and quivering as he drives her closer and closer to that peak.

“I should be afraid of breaking you, but I’m not.” His lips are on her neck again, kissing her pulse with every word as he says, “You’re the first thing I wasn’t afraid of breaking.”

 _You’re the first thing I wasn’t afraid of at all_ , he means, and her heart skips in her chest.

She’s known this, of course. She’s known this from the day they met. From the overwhelming and _odd_ sense of awe and calm that had emanated from him when he’d witnessed her power for the first time. He’d reveled in its strength, realizing its danger and finding relief in it. The part of her that felt wild and untamable, that was unpredictable, was the part of her he’d fallen in love with first. So many people avoided her touch, fearing what it could do, that it may hurt them, but he was drawn in because he knew exactly what she was capable of.

Because it made him feel _human_ again.

“ _James_ ,” she breathes, feeling her legs quiver, feeling herself starting to unravel.

“I’ve got you, darling.” He kisses the column of her throat, soft and slow and sweet, his fingers quickening. “I’ve always got you.”

Her eyelids flutter closed, a soft whimper falling from her lips as his thumb finds her clit again, circling and circling and _circling_ , and she feels her orgasm burst over her. White-hot pleasure rushes through her veins, pulling her apart, and she bites down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying out like she wants to.

Her knees give out from underneath her, but James guides her body to bend over the counter, leaning her weight against it as he draws his hand away. She whines, wanting to feel him, wanting him to touch her – but then she feels the hard length of him pressing against her wet, oversensitive folds, her lips parting in a gasp as he rubs his tip over her clit. A shiver of anticipation rolls down her spine as she lifts her head, catching his gaze in the mirror as his hands curve over her hips, squeezing them gently. Her body is still trembling with her first orgasm, yet somehow she feels a fresh burst of want unfurl in her stomach as he starts to push into her, feels the pleasure shoot through her as he stretches her oversensitive folds.

She whimpers once he’s all the way in, twists her neck and presses her cheek against the cold counter, moaning as he starts to move. It’s always so much deeper like this, so much _fuller_ , and with her body still vibrating with the hum of her orgasm, everything feels so much more intense.

His body curves over hers, his chest pressing against her back as he groans against her skin. “Fuck,” he mutters, angling his hips and sinking in deeper. “ _Fuck_.”

She can feel how tense he is, his muscles pulled tightly together in restraint as he tries not to thrust too hard, to move too fast. He knows she’s sensitive and he wants to give her time to catch her breath, but she doesn’t need it. She needs _him_ , needs to feel him fall apart inside of her, needs to feel him chase his own release, and she moves her hips back in a snap as he sinks into her again, making them both moan. “ _More_ ,” she breathes, knowing that he’s waiting for her permission, for her _plea_ , before he lets himself abandon his control entirely.

She’s so consumed by sensation, by pleasure, that she can’t quite catch her breath. Can’t quite focus on anything other than how deeply James fills her.

She doesn’t know how long either of them last – seconds, _minutes_ – but she feels herself right on that edge again, and she whimpers, her nails scratching at the counter as James slips his hand between them and finds her clit again. Her walls flutter, her spine arching, and she feels his warmth spill inside her with a long, low moan against the curve of her neck.

She whimpers, his metal hand digging into her hips as he thrusts into her once, twice, three more times, and she falls apart with gasp.

He presses his forehead against her shoulder, his breaths hot and stuttering over her skin as he kisses her there. “Think they heard us outside?” he asks after a moment, and she can hear the smirk in his voice as she giggles and lifts her head. He catches her gaze in the reflection, his eyes twinkling. She shrugs. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t really _care_ , either. He smirks a little wider, his hand curving over her ass and giving it a gentle pinch. She bites on her lower lip, trying, and failing, not to smile too widely. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks.

She knows he’s not genuinely worried, that she _likes_ it when it’s a little rough, when she can feel him for hours, _days_ , after. But he still asks, and she really likes that, too.

She shakes her head, reaching back to cover his hand with hers where it’s curved over her ass. “The spanking was a surprise,” she says, one eyebrow arched.

“Good surprise?” She licks her lips, nodding, and his eyes sparkle in pure adoration. “Naughty fucking girl.”


	5. Steve/Natasha - Hate-fucking/Angry Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m still pissed at you about earlier,” he says, his voice quiet and low and rough. She glances over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to be,” he admits, seeming as irritated by this as she feels.
> 
> “Then don’t be,” she retorts. “You have no reason to be.”
> 
> “You almost got yourself killed.” His voice cracks on the world just a little, but neither of them points it out. “And don’t fucking tell me that I can’t be mad about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Kinks:** hate-fucking/angry sex + orgasm denial
> 
> Part of the [married 'verse](http://chalantness.tumblr.com/tagged/married%20'verse).

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” she replies, perhaps a little too quickly, her voice just a little too tight, judging by the way Wanda’s lips curve down at the corners. Her eyebrows furrow as she bites on her lower lip, glancing across the small space of the safe house to where Steve is sitting on the couch, leaning back against the cushions with his legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes are fixed on the open folder in his lap in a gaze that seems intent, though Natasha knows better. She knows that he’s not seeing the words on the pages at all, his thoughts elsewhere as he curls and uncurls his fist on the arm of the couch. The sprawl of his body seems comfortable, almost lazy, even, but his shoulders a little too stiff, his spine too rigid to be casual.

Wanda turns her gaze back to Natasha, her expression wary and now a little hurt.  “You promised to always be honest,” she reminds, voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha feels her chest squeeze. _Fuck._

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she relents, reaching over to brush Wanda’s hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture almost always gets a smile out of her, but this time, Wanda simply furrows her eyebrows a little. Natasha exhales a breath, giving the girl’s hair a gentle, teasing tug. “Hey. You still trust us, don’t you?”

She nods without a second of hesitation, despite the anxiousness still lingering in her expression. “Of course.”

“Then trust me when I say that this’ll pass.” Wanda rubs her lips together, nodding again, and Natasha pulls her hand away as she stands from the kitchen table. She can practically feel the weight of Steve’s gaze from across the room, but, stubbornly, she keeps her attention on Wanda. “I’m going to call it a night. Try not to stay up past your bedtime, alright?”

Wanda’s lips twitch in amusement. “Sweet dreams,” she whispers. Natasha would laugh, except she knows that, underneath her teasing tone, the sentiment is sincere.

 _Sweet dreams_.

Natasha glances at her hand as she walks down the hallway, the ring on her finger glittering in the low glow of the lights. It’s rather ironic how much her life _now_ feels more like a dream than before, when they had the luxuries of resources and funds, when they had their own homes to come back to at the end of the night. It had been so much easier to get by when they weren’t constantly looking over their shoulders and ducking into small, cramped motel rooms or finding refuge in safe houses tucked away in snowy mountains and miles of empty countryside. It had also been a lot easier to ignore the weight of her worries pressing on her chest when there was always a new mission to be accomplished, a new objective to meet.

But being on the run isn’t nearly as distracting as you’d think. Not when they spend days at a time with no one but each other, hiding away, waiting for the next opportunity to move. With no real obligations, no one to check in with or report to, it’s easy to pretend—

To _pretend_. Natasha bites on her lower lip as she steps into the small bedroom at the end of the hallway, toying with her ring, her chest tightening.

“Thinking about giving that back?” a voice asks behind her, and her body tenses, though not in surprise. She glances over her shoulder to find Steve in the doorway of their room, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans his arm against the wall.

She doesn’t know why this pisses her off a little more, but it does. “Is that what you want?” she challenges.

His throat flexes as he swallows, his jaw ticking. “No.” Her eyes flick down to his left hand, settling on the band around his ring finger as she continues toying with her own. She slides it down her finger just an inch, feeling ridiculously, stupidly _stubborn_ , then exhales a breath and slides it back into place, shaking her hands out. She’s _relieved_ and it’s goddamn annoying.

She steps forward, toward their small bathroom, needing to distract herself, needing _space_. But then his hand is grasping her arm just above her elbow, holding her in place.

“I’m still pissed at you about earlier,” he says, his voice quiet and low and rough. She glances over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. “I don’t want to be,” he admits, seeming as irritated by this as she feels.

“Then don’t be,” she retorts. “You have no reason to be.”

“You almost got yourself killed.” His voice cracks on the world just a little, but neither of them points it out. “And don’t fucking tell me that I can’t be mad about that.”

“You _can_. That doesn’t make it less hypocritical,” she argues, her voice just as low as his, knowing that Sam and Wanda are in the other room. They obviously know that she and Steve are pissed at each other, but that doesn’t mean they need to hear this conversation. “How many times have I watched you throw yourself on the ground just to save the rest of us?” She tugs her arm away to face him, but he doesn’t let go, just slides his hand down her forearm and takes her hand in his. She almost winces at how tightly he squeezes, but she just blinks instead, not wanting his hand to ease up, either. _Fuck, this is so stupid_. She almost laughs. “I realize you’re not as breakable as us, but I know that you can still break,” she says.

“So you’re trying to prove a point?” he asks, and no, not for a second does she think that he genuinely believes this. It still pisses her off, though.

Which is probably the point.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” she breathes. He squeezes her hand tighter and she glares. “I’m not above saving someone else before I save myself.”

“That’s the _fucking_ _problem_ ,” he damn near growls, and before she can even blink, he’s grasping her by her arms and pushing her back against the wall, making the shudder delicately under the force of him, of _them_. She blinks, her heart stuttering in her chest as he tightens his grip on her, staring down at her with dark, stormy blue eyes. For a moment, she feels as if she’s been yanked back to a year ago, in a dark, shadowed hotel room in Las Vegas, her brand new ring glittering on her finger and the light thrum of alcohol making everything hazy and warm and light. And then she blinks again, remembering years before _that_ , being pushed into an empty hospital room, the small flash drive pressing against the inside of her palm.

He’d been upset then, too, but not quite like this. Not quite as intense, not quite as _desperate_.

She watches his throat flex with another swallow, watches his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth together. His eyes dart over her face, and she can practically see his thoughts racing just behind his eyes, can practically read every word he’s struggling to get out.

Her heart flutters, and then he’s dipping his head forward, pressing his lips to hers in an angry, bruising, _hungry_ kiss. A soft noise comes from the back of her throat, and she’s not quite sure if the pulsing, white-hot sensation that shoots down her spine is out of relief, or more frustration, or maybe both.

He grasps the waistband of her sweats and pushes them down, her getting caught halfway down her thighs as he presses his fingers to the folds of her sex, and somehow she’s not surprised to find herself wet. She’s been frustrated with him all day – so fucking _pissed_ by their argument, by the way he was acting – that she knows she’s wound up. She can’t quite tell how much of it is arousal and how much of it is frustration, but she doesn’t think it makes a difference. Not when the pads of his fingers are bruising as they stroke over her folds. He dips into her entrance, drawing her wetness up and over her little bundle of nerves, slicking it as he circles and circles, and she bites down on her lower lip, _hard_ , stifling her moan.

He licks into her mouth, kissing her harder, barely letting her catch a breath, and she digs her nails into his biceps. His free hand presses flat against her stomach, pinning her to the wall, not letting her roll her hips into his hand, not letting her squirm away. She twists her neck, needing air, but he chases her lips and kisses her harder.

She feels dizzy. She feels vulnerable. She feels like she’s going to burst—

And then he yanks himself away from her, sucking in a heavy, labored breath as her knees nearly buckle underneath her. She licks her lips, gasps for air, but then his hands are tugging at her again, pulling her down and pushing her onto her back on the floor. He yanks her sweats and her underwear off entirely, tossing them aside, and presses her legs open. Over his shoulder she catches sight of the open bedroom door, her heart stuttering in her chest, but then his mouth is on her, licking a broad stripe up her folds, and she slaps a hand over her mouth before she can moan out loud. He curls his tongue over her, knowing exactly how much pressure she needs, knowing that a groan against her sex always makes her shudder.

He hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, licks inside of her and groans, long and low, shaking with the desperation that she feels. His hand grips her thigh, his fingers bruising into her flesh as her nails scratch over the hardwood. She’d tug on his hair, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Especially since he seems pretty damn determined to keep her from _hers_.

He licks up her folds again, his lips finding her clit and sucking once, twice, three times, sinking two fingers into her and letting her sex flutter around them. Her spine arches off of the floor as he thrusts his fingers slowly, _too damn slowly_ , and then he pulls his mouth off of her entirely. She blinks her eyes open, watching as he licks his lips and lets her body fall away from her building orgasm once more. She pulls her hand from over her mouth, pushes it into her hair as she blinks, and, _fuck_. Her eyelashes dot with tears, her eyes starting to sting.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says, sounding breathless and maybe a little bit lost, too. Her chest squeezes. “I _wouldn’t_ know what to do. Not without you.”

“You’d figure it out.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head, pushes his fingers deeper, curling, as his thumb finds her clit. She twists her body, pressing her cheek against the floor, her body vibrating with sensation. But then his hand is on her face, grasping her chin, drawing her face back to his to meet his eyes. “No,” he says slowly, firmly. “I wouldn’t.”

He draws his hand away and sucks his fingers between his lips before pushing his own sweats down his hips, bracing himself above her with one hand against the floor.

“I can’t lose you, Nat,” he says as he presses his length against her folds, rubbing the tip of himself over her clit. Her body shudders, her legs almost snapping closed, feeling overwhelmed by sensation despite not coming _once_ yet. “You’re going to promise me that I won’t.”

“Steve—”

She feels him pulse between them when she says his name, and he lowers himself onto his forearm, presses his length at her entrance. “Promise me,” he says, a command and a plea all at once. She opens her lips, but then he’s pushing inside, just an inch, then another, and she can’t quite remember how to _breathe_. “Promise me,” he repeats. “And fucking _mean it._ ”

She slides her hands up his arms, settles them behind his neck and draws him to her, his body practically pressing her into the floor as he finally, _finally,_ pushes all the way in.

“You have to promise me, too.” She digs her nails into his skin, feeling his pulse thrum wildly against her palm. “ _Promise me_ , Steve.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as if to smile. “I already did,” he tells her, and her heart stutters, her breath catches. _I already did, in my vows_ , he means, and she feels a little bit like she wants to cry as he pulls out and then pushes back in, starting a slow, teasing rhythm.

She feels overwhelmed, feels one single, fleeting, _terrifying_ moment of panic where she thinks maybe she’s imagining this—

But then he pulls his hand off of her neck and brings it to his lips, kissing her wedding ring as he pushes in harder, deeper, and it feels so real that it’s _perfect_.


End file.
